


your eyes are wanting all they see

by darcychick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Rough Sex, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darcychick/pseuds/darcychick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the only way they know how to love each other, pressed into these cheap-by-the-hour-motel mattresses, rough kisses, and harsh slaps of skin.</p>
<p>based on request: Anonymous asked: lucifer x reader at a by the hour motel, dirty talk?</p>
            </blockquote>





	your eyes are wanting all they see

**Author's Note:**

> read at my tumblr: http://darcy-chick.tumblr.com/post/126127402116/lucifer-x-reader-at-a-by-the-hour-motel-dirty

The entire motel reeked of sex and sin and lust. Greed and gluttony oozed from the cracks in the cheap plaster walls. She ignored the pleasured shrieks and grunting moans from the other rooms. She was one of them.

The acrid scent of cigarettes filled her lungs as she stood outside the rent by the hour room. The thin door was smooth under her knuckles as she knocked.

He had been waiting.

“Y/N.” He said as he pulled her inside.

The room was small, the main feature being the large bed with the thin, iron headboard that most likely clanged against the wall, judging by the scratch marks on the paintwork behind it.

There were mirrors everywhere; on the ceiling, the walls, opposite the bed, behind the bed.

She could see the appeal of watching Lucifer fuck her, his hands tight on her hips as he comes. She liked the idea of being able to see all of that, seeing herself ride his cock, watch the undulating flex and stretch of her thighs.

The curtains are drawn but still the early morning sunlight is bright and piercing, picks out every fingerprint, every fleck of dust on the cheap glass of the mirrors.

She can see drips of semen on some of the mirrors, missed by the cleaner. That is if there was a cleaner.

Lucifer was watching her as she dropped her bag on the thin, scratchy carpet, leaning against one of the mirrors, his doppelgangers shoulders are tight, his arms are crossed. He’s brushing a thumb across his lips; oral fixation.

She sits on the ugly patterned sheets, pretending she wasn’t slick and wet in her panties already. The bed creaks and squeaks, worn down by years of lovers, the springs squealing and protesting.

Lucifer moves away from the mirror, moving towards her.

“I want to taste you on my tongue this time.” He says, sure of himself, towering over her.

She smiles, stretching painted lips, and spreads her legs, her short skirt riding further up her thighs.

Lucifer kneels and she enjoys the sight.

His tongue is sure of itself as he laves across the soaked lace of her baby blue panties, soft and gentle like the steady rush and fall of the ocean. 

His teeth scraping the delicate fabric, a gentle threat, as his hands move to her thighs, pulling her legs further apart, trying to get closer, closer.

His nose pressing sharply into her skin, catching on her clit, her hands in his hair, tight and taut.

She watches the way his blonde hair laps over her fingers, caressed by golden strands, the way it catches on her dull metal rings.

His eyes are bright as he looks up at her, his mouth lustrous and dewy, his pupils dark and eclipsing.

Her feet are firmly pressed on the floor, encased in her boots, he enjoys unwrapping her, like a depraved present, her wrappings discarded on the floor.

He takes his time with her boots, sliding his hands down her calves, unlacing, gently pulling her foot free, he does the same with the other, worshipping her skin.

His hands travel further up when her boots are gone, higher and higher, until his fingers are curling under the edge of her thigh highs, pulling the thin fabric down, revealing smooth skin, soft and silken.

The stockings are flung over in a pile by the foot of the bed, disarray. He unbuttons the skirt, pulling it off easily, dropping it to get his hands on her skin again.

His hands slide under her shirt, his fingertips are rough; Nick worked with his hands, built the crib that never housed a baby.

He pulls the flimsy fabric over her head, the material flung to the floor with the stockings, as he turns his attentions to her mesh covered breasts, the dark shadow of her dusky nipples conspicuous, hard and aching, a flash of silver piercings.

His hands deftly pull the lingerie open, his mouth hot and slippery on her nipples, the click of metal on teeth.

Her back is arched into his hands; strong, bracing her spine, holding her still, holding her here, now and in the present. Here in the smoky, mephitic motel room, watching her own body arch and flex under his tongue and hands in the stained mirrors.

Her hair tumbles over her shoulder as he pulls the wooden hair pin from the messy bun she had thrown it into.

She sits before him as he kneels, her back straight as she looks down at him, undressed by him, leaving her in only a pair of lace panties for the Devil to behold.

He watches the rise and swell of her ribcage in time with her even, relaxed breaths and in turn the way her breasts move softly with each breath and every infinitesimal twitch.

Her flesh is soft under his fingers like the sweet decay of peaches, velveteen smooth. Her nipples hard under his thumbs and still slick from his saliva. The stench of her skin; saccharine sweet and the musky perfume of female arousal.  
Almost vile in her sweetness and guile, in her innocence and depravity, he craved her skin under his, the tight clench of her cunt around his cock, the stinging scrape of her dark lacquered nails across the soft skin of his back, pulling at the thick, dark ink, acquired by Nick, on his shoulder.

He delighted in the flush of her cheeks as he whispered filth and debasement in the soft, shell of her ear as his teeth nipped tender cartilage and sensitive skin.

He rips the lace from her body now, suddenly desperate. The cries of others in rapture and climax ringing in his ears all around him, the thump of headboards in the room next door, others that are finding themselves in one another.

He wants that, now, he thinks as he moves the two of them further up the creaking bed, pressing her down with his weight.  
Her cunt is slick and wet, for him, as he slides two fingers inside, curling almost brutally until she cries and squirms for him. His cock is hard and leaking as he lines himself up, the pearly drops that drip from the head smearing across the wet heat of her.

She whines and cries as he fills her, stretching her deliciously, enough to make tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

His groan is deep and vibrates through his chest, rattling her ribcage, his breath is sharp and fresh on her skin, his teeth hard and salient on her skin.

His thrusts are rapid, the slap of their skin echo in the sparse room, the headboard is knocking against the wall as she predicted, a sharp thud, thud, thud, drumbeat.

Lucifer is unrelenting.

They recreate the age old symphony of mankind, titled: lovemaking and fucking; Comprised of verses of sighs, a chorus of screams and shouts, a crescendo of moans and whines.

Lucifer’s breaths are needy and hoarse, as his thrusts lose pace but get deeper, pressing hard inside her.

It’s the only way they know how to love each other, pressed into these cheap-by-the-hour-motel mattresses, rough kisses, and harsh slaps of skin.

She relishes the brush of the hair on his thigh as she drags her smooth leg further up, effectively changing the angle and depth, until they are both crying out, the sounds punched from her, breathless.

She comes, her mouth open in a silent scream, all the sound taken from her, as her back arches, holding him in place, making sure he continues to hit that spot. His arms tighten around her as he climaxes, his deep thrusts hot and slick with his come now.

They collapse on the bed, which creaks and whines warningly, as they shift and re-arrange themselves on the bed, murmuring praise softly. They eventually lay with her leg hooked over his thigh, his softening cock slips free, the slow slide of his come leaking out making her shiver.

They are silent as they breathe softly together, listening to the shrieks and screams around them, the wanton moans and deep groans, the throaty growl of an engine. She traces patterns in the golden hair on his chest as his come drips from her, softly, onto the thin and stained mattress. 

He watches the way the sunlight plays on her cheekbones, casting shadows from her thick lashes as she reaches across him, steadying herself with a hand on his chest to click on the radio that sat on the run-down bedside table, the buttons slick with some unidentified substance, making her scowl. 

She wipes her fingers on the awful bedcovers before relaxing back on his broad chest, their legs tangled, skin warm and clammy, listening to Elvis Presley croon about tender love and fulfilled dreams.

Lucifer was the one to pay $300 dollars when they finally checked out, having spent hours dozing and dreaming, speaking in hushed voices and kissing.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review! 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr@ : darcy-chick.tumblr.com


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